


Fuoco

by cruciel



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-14
Updated: 2007-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruciel/pseuds/cruciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't meant to say that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuoco

**Author's Note:**

> AU, of course. Beta'd by the lovely cat_o_ninetails.

  
It was one thing to obey the rules and the laws – let no one say that Kuchiki Byakuya was anything but steadily loyal to that. Except when his only family was concerned. Except if he was forced to choose between his only family and the law.

So when the order came from above to bring back the shinigami stationed on earth, Byakuya should have felt peace, at least. Good, even, because for the first time in a long while he had not failed one duty while serving the other.

Unfortunately, it also meant taking her away from Kurosaki Ichigo again, and Rukia was developing a…stubbornness that started to astonish and startle him. Part of him was surprised; most of him was grimly satisfied. Rukia needed convictions of her own.

Byakuya watched the ornate spirit gateway to the world close and dissipate, and felt that now-familiar tinge of guilt again. Guilty wondering whether it would be appropriate to comfort his sister, rather than the soldier of war.

The sister-soldier bowed silently and turned.

“Rukia.” He said at last, still gazing at the space where the doorway had been.

The petite shinigami paused, mid-storming off, and regarded him evenly. “Yes, ni-sama?”

Byakuya hesitated a moment, gazing back at her stony eyes and proud stance. The proud thought _grown-up_ and _beautiful_ warred with the punch in the stomach he felt every time he looked at her- _Hisana. If only you could see what I see._

“I am glad you are here.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He frowned.

Rukia’s granite stare softened at those words, although she still stood stiffly to attention. “I…must report to Captain Ukitake. If you’ll excuse me-” She bowed and practically fled from him.

Byakuya watched her go, fists clenched, when the gratingly common voice drawled across his ears.

“Looks like she favours the walking coffin compared to you, hime-sama,” Zaraki drawled, sounding amused at the idea.

Byakuya closed his eyes, counting his kidous backwards from no.25. He was a Kuchiki; one of the four most noble houses in Soul Society. He had duties, principles, manners, common sense. None of which Zaraki possessed.

It was no wonder that their communication always broke down.

Byakuya’s infinite wisdom, thus enlightened, urged him to act in the appropriate way. To make Zaraki understand, as concisely as possible, how he was at the end of his patience with Kenpachi. How the affairs of the Kuchiki family was above and beyond the commentary of a dirty Rukongai scrap-dog-

‘Oi, look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya, you prissy bast-’

Zaraki was fast, but Byakuya had chased Yoruichi in his childhood.

The crunch of lower jawbone against his bare fist made something _howl_ within Byakuya Kuchiki, a howl that reverberated from the core of his being and crashing against the nerves of his fingertips. He jerked back, ungracefully, staring at the unwashed walking mountain that lay sprawled against the border wall.

The howling sounded and felt suspiciously, enormously, satisfied. _Good_, it purred. He blinked.

Zaraki blinked back at him with his one eye. It looked unnervingly like a wink.

Maradame Ikkaku and Yumichika Ayasegawa had been bantering about the outrageous price of rice balls on earth. They now stood silent, ready, watching their captain. Ikkaku’s right hand was wrapped around his zanpaktou’s hilt, knuckle-white. Ready to leap to the captain’s aid, should he wish it. Waiting for the order.

Byakuya was surprised at their discipline.

In the deadly silence, Ayasegawa said quietly,

‘Ah, Pachinko? You’re holding a bokken.’

Maradame cursed loudly.

“Goddamnshittyschoolnotallowinggoddamnweaponswhothefuc- YACHIRU GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BOKKEN WILL YA? I’M GOING TO-“

“He cut through Ken-chan’s reiatsu,” Yachiru murmured, eyes narrowed. “Byakushi is fighting Ken-chan finally. I want to watch, so be quiet, pachinko-head.”

Yachiru’s words slammed Byakuya back to reality, where in the place of sheer, uncontrolled adrenaline, shame and disgust flooded in. He had struck another captain. Not even in a fair challenge, but a cheap blow without warning. Like a sake-sodden rukongai brawler.

Zaraki chuckled. “Whaddaya know,’ He spat out some blood, standing up. “The swan has some teeth. That’s more like it, hime-sama.”

“You are babbling, Kenpachi,” Byakuya said, turning to go. “Watch your words.”

“It’s not words I watch,” Zaraki shot back. Bells tinkled mockingly in his ear, and his vision was suddenly filled with a torn and bandaged chest. “Why don’t you get your pretty sword out, and we get started? I’m itching for a fight, and you’re right here. Seems like you n’me, we got things to sort out, see?”

“There is nothing to sort out. Move.”

“That’s no fun, hime-sama,” Zaraki towered over him by a good headlength, the uncovered eye with its pinprick pupil glaring down at him. ‘See, I been telling ya all my problems with your damned attitude, right at your face. Ignore me again and I cut you down right here, in front of your lieutenants. No one challenges me and walks away without a fight. Not honourable, see?” Zaraki’s zanpaktou screeched in protest as it was dragged out, ragged edges and tinged with the pungent smell of blood.

“You dare call yourself honourable?” Byakuya asked softly. “You are a farce of that badge of office you wear. Your insolence is intolerable. You taint the very foundations of the Seireitei with your presence. Remove yourself or I will assist you.”

“Stop hiding behind pretty words and fight, girlie,” Zaraki taunted, “What’s the matter? That punch felt pretty good, didn’t it? So do it again! Smash my bones, grind it to powder!” His voice thundered across the courtyard, shattering the roof tiles with sheer pressure. “MAYBE THEN YOU’LL KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE ALIVE, YOU DAMNED COWARD!”

The courtyard blew apart.

Ikkaku and Yumichika crumpled to the ground, clutching their chests, faces constricted in pained rictus. “C-Can’t- Breathe- my-damned-lungs,” Ikkaku gasped, staring at the maelstrom of reiatsu. “Argh!”

Yumichika’s face was drenched with sweat and dust from the debris of what had once been the courtyard. ‘It’s the air being crushed – imploding! We need to get out now!”

Half-crawling and half-running, Zaraki's lieutenants stumbled out of the seething radius of power, staring dumbfounded at the conflict.

"I didn't think he'd do it," Ikkaku gasped, sweat pouring down his face. "Taichou must've pissed him off pretty bad to- I mean, the bastard Renji goes on and on about inhuman calm and shit-"

The marble foundation of the courtyard, shattered under the enormous reiatsu, gave in and disintegrated in a shower of silver and white.

"They've gone beyond containing this," Yumichika turned. “YACHIRU!" He screamed over the howling, "WARN THE OTHERS! WE HAVE A CODE 15! TELL UKITAKE TAICHOU AND UNOHANA TAICHOU! CODE 15! MOVE IT!”

For once Yachiru did as she was told, streaking away in a blinding flash of pink towards the Headquarters.

“Holy fuck,” Ikkaku spat out, eyes wide, “Taichou just removed his patch!”

The storm continued, spirals of power lashing at the higher heavens, sizzling the air with raw energy. Yumichika smelt burnt cedar, dirt and somehow, stone; the battleground reeked with spiritual power coming unhinged, disintegrating; Aizen bedamned, he thought numbly; they were ripping apart the fabric of reality.

He could fix his hair later. Right now, he had to run. And get help.


End file.
